


From Our Touch in Continuous Creation

by mockanddee



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Communication, Engagement, Episode Related, Fluff, Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2013, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Skype Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockanddee/pseuds/mockanddee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts again with a marching band, a moment, and an echo. And then Kurt goes back to New York with a ring on his finger.</p>
<p>Moments of building and change in Kurt and Blaine's relationship. This is a collection of ficlets written for the 2013 Klaine Advent Challenge, put in canon chronological order, and taking place during the episodes 5x01 through shortly after 5x07.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Our Touch in Continuous Creation

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem "Touch" by Thom Gunn.

**[echo]**

The band and the crowd are far away; all Kurt can hear are Blaine’s soft, labored breaths in his ear—lips brushing Kurt’s earlobe.

“ _Kurt_ , come somewhere with me,” Blaine whispers.

Kurt’s fingers clench down in the fabric of Blaine’s white polo and he thinks he might be shaking. It’s so much—sun on his face, synapses firing, the thump thump _thump_ of his blood and his heart—and it all says _yes_.

"Right now?" he asks.

"Right now."

Blaine takes his hand. “C’mon.”

They jump down from the table together and Blaine tugs gently and they both go. The school feels foreign and brand-new and full of the past to Kurt as they go down hallways, the auditorium silent when they get through the door.

Their footsteps are loud in the space, sound bouncing off the walls, and then the whisper of the curtain.

Backstage, dim and quiet, just the two of them, and Kurt can’t stop himself, he can’t—he gets Blaine up against the wall and kisses him again, kisses those lips that he knows so well, that he never stopped dreaming about.

"Oh god," Blaine moans low into Kurt’s open mouth.

They kiss hard, tongues stroking, and Kurt feels Blaine’s hand slide down his back, fingertips digging in, down to his ass. Blaine pulls him in and they touch everywhere.

It’s the smell of him—his breath, skin, sweat—that takes Kurt apart. Kurt wants to cry with it, the smell of the taste of Blaine’s mouth, the smell of the sweat that gathers on the back of his neck, under his arms, in every secret part of his body, the smell that is Blaine, Blaine, Blaine.

It’s the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced; he never even knew before Blaine that you could know these things about someone, about a lover. It is imprinted on his mind and heart, it’s every time they kissed or fucked or touched, and right now—god, he’s so hard.

"Blaine," he gasps and clutches the back of Blaine’s neck, up into his hair, the crisp gel strands starting to soften, loosen. He wants him so badly.

"Please," Blaine whispers, sweating, chest rising and falling. Kurt drops to his knees, watching as Blaine’s head tips back against the wall.

Kurt gets Blaine’s zipper undone and takes his cock out, bringing it to his lips, and takes a breath, lets it rest there on his lips as he slowly kisses it. Blaine cries out, quiet, like he’s trying not to, and Kurt sucks him in, Blaine filling his mouth.

" _Shit_ ," he hears Blaine whisper and he grabs onto Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt’s jaw relaxes and his mouth pulls, tongue touching everywhere on the soft skin. After everything, this is what he wants, this is what he missed alone and fighting emptiness in his bed in New York, trying to understand.

He wants to love Blaine.

Kurt remembers the first time he did this, messy and ridiculous, shocked by it all—by the spit and the hardness and the way the head of Blaine’s cock felt against the roof of his mouth, the inside of his cheeks.

He clutched one of Blaine’s hands the entire time.

It feels almost like that now, like he can’t believe it’s happening, overwhelming, and so good—his heart is racing and he is making little sounds around Blaine’s cock, sucking hard, and Blaine thrusts, once, twice, three times, letting out these strangled groans each time.

"Kurt, oh—I’m going to," Blaine gets out and moves one hand to Kurt’s cheek and the touch is so soft, so gentle.

Kurt meets his eyes and Blaine floods his mouth as Kurt swallows.

Blaine strokes his hand down Kurt’s cheek and Kurt turns his mouth into it, kissing it once, before tangling his fingers with Blaine’s and letting himself be pulled up and into a kiss, both of them whimpering and breathing hard.

"I love you," Blaine murmurs and fumbles with Kurt’s pants, kissing down his chest over his shirt, slipping down into the space between Kurt’s body and wall.

Kurt gasps out, “I love you too,” before all he can feel is the hot, wet heat of Blaine’s mouth. He can hardly control himself right now, can’t stop his stuttering hips, his orgasm coming hard and fast. Blaine’s face is flushed and shining and beautiful and Kurt just stares at him, his closed eyes, his lovely lips around him.

He twitches when he comes, every nerve cracking, moaning Blaine’s name, one hand covering his mouth.

He goes to his knees next to Blaine and they cling to each, and he can’t stop a tear that escapes and there’s wetness on Blaine’s face too. He laughs and feels the press of Blaine’s smile in the curve of his neck.

"Oh my god, we just had sex at school," he says.

"Well, it’s not your school, technically," Blaine replies and Kurt giggles and pulls back so he can see Blaine’s face. They hadn’t ever before, not even when they both went there.

"I think that might make it worse."

Blaine just shakes his head and they sit there grinning at each other, pants still undone, and Kurt knows they are lucky they got away with this, but he’s so happy. He doesn’t know—he doesn’t know for sure what is going to happen, but this, this is what he wants.

 

**[torch]**

Blaine’s bedroom looks almost the same. Being here wrapped up in Blaine’s arms, in this bed, as a couple again makes Kurt’s chest feel like it’s filled with bubbles, light and airy, like he is seconds away from giggling.

It is the same sheets and duvet that were on the bed the first night he and Blaine slept together.

Blaine is lying along Kurt’s side, head supported by his hand, and has the bottom few buttons of Kurt’s shirt undone, where he is rubbing along the revealed skin there, just barely dipping his fingers under the waistband of his pants every now and then.

It feels so good that it’s making Kurt shiver, just a low simmer of desire for Blaine that curls his toes, makes his pants feel tight. He turns his head, nuzzling his face into whatever part of Blaine he can, his polo-covered shoulder, the bare skin of his neck and under his jaw. He pulls back to look at him.

"Did I tell you that I started crying when you sang at Regionals?"

Blaine raises his eyebrows and his hand pauses. “No, you didn’t. Why?”

"Because of how much I felt. Because of how you looked up there, so incredible. Because of things I knew," Kurt says.

Blaine grins. “Oh, I know that feeling— _there is a moment_ —”

Kurt laughs, oh oh _oh_ those words, they make him feel like he did then, still even now. He runs one hand up Blaine’s arm and pushes at him, making him roll back a little before coming even closer, now pressed completely against him.

"No, not exactly that. It wasn’t—I mean, it wasn’t a surprise. The feelings weren’t a moment. It was more like," Kurt pauses. "They never went away for me. And it wasn’t just then. It was everything, like every moment lit things a little more."

Kurt smiles at Blaine, leaning over to brush a kiss to his lips. “In fact, I think by then I knew all ready, that I wasn’t going to go back to New York single.”

Blaine is flushed, his hand resuming its stroking, his eyes so tender and seductive with it. “Well, then I’m glad you did. You are amazing, Kurt Hummel.”

He does have to go back to New York soon; he’s all ready spent more time in Lima than he intended to, missed a few classes even but he couldn’t—he had to stay. When Blaine asked him to stay for Regionals, that rush of tensions and excitement he felt in that moment, looking at Blaine’s vulnerable face, his nerves written plain, Kurt wasn’t ready to go.

He’s not sure he even is now. He feels the build of something else, a pull, he hasn’t quite figured it out yet—but he suspects that Blaine is planning—well, Kurt keeps circling it in his head.

"Me too," Kurt says.

Blaine trails his fingers lower, over the zipper of Kurt’s pants, against the shape of Kurt’s cock. It’s all it takes—a match thrown onto Kurt’s quiet arousal, flaring it to life, making it roar and crack inside of him. His kness bend up, fall open a little bit. He gasps.

Blaine sucks a kiss to his neck. “You know, we have some time before you have to go home tonight.”

“ _Please_.”

 

**[key]**

Polished wooden bannister and wrought iron curls—a staircase where Kurt has stood before, a long time ago. It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? He doesn’t know anymore—would he even recognize that boy now, hurting and lonely?

But oh, he recognizes the man in front of him. The love in Blaine’s eyes a ballast as the world shifts.

Kurt came here to answer a question. He came here because Blaine needed to ask one. Here again, in this place, the crucial moment, the pivot point—twice now.

He looks at Blaine’s face, the boy that took his hand, the boy that kissed his lips and his skin, who held his heart—and even now, Kurt’s heart is running from him and he doesn’t try to stop it, doesn’t know how. It will be caught and cared for by the person that changed everything, changed him—that much, that much he knows. He breathes and one irrevocable moment drops into another.

He hears Blaine’s words.

He isn’t afraid now. He has to answer a question.

 

**[overture]**

Kurt goes back to New York with a ring on his finger.

He isn’t used to it at first—even though he owns a few rings, he has never been in the habit of wearing one regularly. He finds himself smoothing the thumb of his right hand over it, pressing down and feeling the push of the metal back, unyielding and secure. It catches his eye while getting dressed, when he runs his fingers through his hair and tucks his shirt into his pants, when he’s lacing up his boots, and he brings his fist to his mouth and lets the ring touch on the sensitive inside of his bottom lip, in a kind of a kiss.

He has to text Blaine right away, every time.

On the L train back to Bushwick in the evening after a long day at NYADA, he laces his fingers together, feels the ring, and something in him just relaxes and rushes at the same time, wraps around his heart—a swell of love that tangles in him, the adrenaline rush of long opening notes to the rest of his life, the lights coming up.

And that’s—exactly how he feels. Something brand new. It isn’t that his love for Blaine is new—no, that part is constant, an unbroken line across the years, even through the long cold months of the past winter. It was there when he went back to Ohio, only knowing then that he wanted to spend time with Blaine, to see him, his best friend. During those difficult conversations they travelled through together—they had started those slowly, when the hurt wasn’t so sharp, and Blaine would ask _can I tell you?_ and Kurt would say _yes_.

The love isn’t new. It’s everything else—his whole life.

He has a minor freak out washing the dinner dishes one night, the soap getting between the ring and his finger and making it slip down to his knuckle. It can’t go any farther, he knows it fits too well for that, but still--his pulse races and he makes sure to keep the rubber gloves right next to the sink after that. Later, he crawls into bed with Rachel, getting under the covers—something he hasn’t done in a very long time, not since those first hard, aching weeks in the city. She puts her head on his shoulder and he holds onto her, tears slipping down his cheeks at how much he feels.

He can now give in to his urge to call Blaine _all the time_. They shoot text messages to each other in between classes, start and end their days together in whatever way they can, through Skype or over the phone. Kurt gets giddy with it—the pull of Blaine’s voice and face, his laugh in Kurt’s ear, of their lives fitting together in this way even so far apart. Their conversations when they had been broken up had felt so different, both of them just a little careful, but this, this is—them. It shouldn’t feel so brand-shocking-new.

The words I love you have never felt so good in Kurt’s mouth, so at home there.

Kurt’s coworkers at Vogue all want to hear the story when the office gossip goes around. He gets flushed with it, telling them, showing off his ring—making it even more real. He’s engaged. Isabelle hugs him for a very long time.

It opens up in him, through him—spreads out through every part.

One morning Kurt wakes up late, his first class of the day not until ten, and when he reaches for his phone on the table next to this bed, he has a message waiting for him from Blaine. It just says, _I am so happy we are going to spend the rest of our lives together. <3_

Kurt rolls over and makes noises, laughing into his pillow.

 

**[ice]**

During his fifteen minute break, Kurt retreats to the little alcove in the back where the ice machine is, bright fluorescent lighting and scuffed floors. There is a old bar stool there and he perches on it, pulling his phone from his pocket.

It has been mostly just training this first shift, learning how to take orders and picking up the little theater-themed phrases they are supposed to use with the customers. Rachel had run through most of the basic other duties of cleaning and stocking and where to find everything—Rachel playing experienced waitress and him, attentive trainee.

(Well, sort of—)

But it’s going to be tough getting through the last couple hours of their shifts since finding out Rachel got her part—he feels it buzzing between all of them, the itch to get out of here and celebrate.

He rubs his hand along his thigh, checking to see if he has any messages, and there is one from Blaine sent earlier.

_Hope you are having a good first day. Call me later!_

Kurt smiles; he and Blaine haven’t really talked since very late the night before, after Blaine had gotten home from prom, and he had sleepily filled Kurt in on what had happened there.

_I’m on my break rn. What are you doing?_ He texts back.

It takes a minute but then his phone pings.

_Hey! A few of us are out at Breadstix to celebrate for Tina._

Then another one, Look!

There is a picture attached and when Kurt expands it to fill the screen, it’s Blaine and Tina in a familiar booth, shoulder to shoulder and leaning towards each other, both smiling and the white-sparkly prom queen crown on Tina’s head. It was clearly taken by whoever is sitting across from them, and Kurt can see half-empty glasses of soda on the table, plates of almost finished pasta.

Kurt’s heart flutters in his chest at the sight of Blaine’s grin and wishes he could reach through and touch him, touch his teeth, skim his finger along the edge of Blaine’s lips.

_Tell her I love her crown. It’s very royalty-chic._ Kurt texts back.

_She says thank you and that she might as well get some use out of it. I think she’s trying to talk them into giving her a free piece of cake._ Kurt laughs at that—he can practically see the fondness behind the words.

_And Sam says hi btw. How are you?_

_Good. Amazing news. Rachel got Fanny Brice!_

He tries to imagine Blaine’s expression as he presses send.

_Oh my god. Really? I’ll have to text her congratulations_ , Blaine replies.

_You should, she’d love that._

Kurt looks at the time—he only had a few more minutes left before he needs to get back out there. The ice machine next to him rumbles with a groan and he hears ice move and fall, before it calms back to a low mechanical vibration. Alone here, he feels his promises down in his marrow, the one he made out there with Rachel and Santana for two more years in the city and the one he made to Blaine for forever—their own reverberations and gravity.

He’ll go to sleep with them and will wake up with them—the shape of his life changing right before his eyes, reorienting, changing states. Even a month ago, he wouldn’t have ever guessed. Even in that car ride to Dalton, he didn’t know but then—

He pulls the picture of Blaine back up. But then.

_I’m thinking about you,_ he sends to Blaine, feeling a little vulnerable with it. _Skype tonight?_

_Of course! And I’m thinking about you too._

It’s a standing skype date for every night now but they’ve started taking a few seconds each day to confirm, to make the plan—together.

It feels like another yes every time.

_Gotta go. Have fun! I love you._

_I love you too, Kurt. xoxo_

Kurt gets up, stretches, and right before he leaves, he brushes his hand along the door of the ice machine, cool metal against the skin-warm metal around his finger.

 

**[gift]**

They are in the dark in Kurt’s old bedroom, stretched out naked and facing each other, knees brushing as Kurt runs two of his fingers down the line of Blaine’s body—slope of his shoulder, upper arm, curve of his waist, and right along his hip.

It’s skin and bone and blood—but Kurt knows this body, knows the feel of it, and when he brings his hand across Blaine’s chest, he can’t feel Blaine’s heartbeat, not really. The tension starts in Kurt’s teeth and makes his jaw ache.

Blaine doesn’t say anything as Kurt touches. They fucked in near silence earlier, Kurt covering Blaine with his lubed hand gripping their cocks, Blaine’s fingers digging into his back. They both breathed onto each other’s skin, just to feel it.

Blaine’s eyes blink open. He rolls onto his back and finds Kurt’s hand with his, pulling Kurt’s arm across his body and Kurt goes, goes to him. He lays his head on Blaine’s chest—and oh, there.

There.

His insides feel carved out, but he is held, his fingers tangled with Blaine’s. And under his ear, steady rhythm.

He’ll take that sound back with him to New York.

 

**[falter]**

Lights turned down low in his room, Kurt peels off his day. It’s his clothes first, layer by layer. Piece by piece. He moves and removes.

Shower: the molecules of the city and his skin down the drain.

He rubs his moisturizer on, slips into his sweatpants and tank top. He feels something uncurl in his chest and he touches his fist there, over his sternum, and on his way to his bed, he runs one hand down the sleeve of the jacket he was working on earlier.

The city is coming through his window, just there on the other side—muted lights and the low vibration of sound, the movement of people.

Right here.

He gets under the covers and pulls his laptop towards him. When he sees Blaine’s face on his screen, he has to close his eyes for just a moment—he aches and can exhale at the same time. He can’t help but smile and that last bit—that last bit unpeels too.

"I think about the future a lot," he whispers to Blaine.

Blaine tilts his head. “I know.”

"No, I mean, more than ever. There are so many things I want—for me, for us."

He watches as Blaine exhales and looks down and Kurt can see the grin round his cheeks, the little blush that appears there. Blaine’s eyes are wide and so soft when he looks back up and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat.

Us: both me and you together.

"I feel the same way. I think about it all the time," Blaine says. "For so long, I couldn’t know for sure, if—well, I still hoped."

Kurt touches the screen at that. It’s all he can do.

"I knew I loved you and that was important to me," Blaine continues. And he says it as if that’s so simple.

Kurt scrunches up his nose. “Am I missing a metaphor here?”

Blaine laughs and shakes his head. “No, not really. Kurt. I’m just saying—we don’t always know how we’re going to get there.”

"I used to think I knew."

Blaine shrugs. “Sure. But what’s important?”

Kurt struggles. It’s so hard—so much of it and he wraps his duvet tighter around himself, wraps himself up tight and feels so young. His want, wherever it takes him, that will not falter. He has to make his choices too.

Want: desire to be held by your fiancé and feel his arms and touch.

"I love you," he says and Blaine has that look, that look he gets when he’s about to kiss Kurt and they both feel it acutely.

"I love you too."

Kurt falls asleep with Blaine, as close as he can have him.

 

**[loft]**

There is a moment, as the last notes of the song still hang in the air, hang in the walls and the floorboards of the loft, when they all just look at each other and take a collective breath—Rachel and Dani breaking first, expelling air and giddy noises before laughing.

It’s contagious after that. They lean on each other and their microphone stands, cover their mouths and hold their bellies.

It ripples through Kurt when Rachel throws her arms around him. It’s the relief of something coming together—of their voices together. She kisses his cheek with a smack and pulls back and when he sees her face, he can’t stop his own grin, his own exhilaration. And okay, it was just one song—just one Katy Perry song—and it is ridiculous but right now he really doesn’t care.

He jumps and grabs onto the rope again, and just—soars, swinging back and forth while Rachel shrieks his name and reaches out, trying to grab him and he slips past. He can’t stop the rush of it in his blood.

The rope gives a dangerous creak right before he lets go.

One of the musicians that Dani had somehow wrangled up makes a flask appear and it starts making the rounds, Elliott and Santana both taking long pulls before passing it on. Kurt waves it off when it gets to him. The guy playing the drums beats out a little rhythm as they all talk over each other, the guitarist joining in at random, creating their own strange song. The place feels so full in a way that he isn’t used to, the dark of the past few weeks chased away for now.

Kurt’s phone buzzes in his pocket. And he gets an entirely different rush at the picture of Blaine’s face.

He goes to hide in the bathroom, turning on the light and sitting on the uncomfortable edge on the bathtub. He wants to hear Blaine’s voice.

"Hey, I’m so glad you called," he says. He presses the phone close to his face.

"Hi. I think I got suspended today?"

"Um."

"I mean, I think so."

"Um. I don’t— _what?_ ”

"Well, it’s Coach Sylvester so you can never know for sure, but the whole glee club was," Blaine says, and he doesn’t sound very distressed over it, just confused. Kurt can’t even imagine Blaine getting suspended.

"I don’t think I understand."

"We violated dress code. Because of the Lady Gaga and Katy Perry outfits," Blaine says and Kurt can hear the smile in his voice.

"Oh my god, Blaine."

"My costume was a little intense, I guess, for me," Blaine say and just from his tone, Kurt can see his face so clearly in his mind, the little shake of his head, the shape of his eyebrows, the line of mouth. "But we’ve got to figure out how to beat Throat Explosion, so it was okay."

"I thought it was perfect," Kurt says, giggling now. Blaine had sent him pictures before his performance, taken on his cellphone in one of the boy’s bathrooms at McKinley. Kurt had been working when he got them and squeaked loud enough that customers turned around and looked. He couldn’t look again until his shift was over.

Blaine is laughing too. “Thank you. But no—what’s going on there? I hear Santana yelling.”

"I—don’t actually know what that’s about, but we’re having our first real band practice tonight. And we came up with a name, or well, Rachel did."

"I can’t wait to hear all about it," Blaine says, the warmth in his voice going straight down to Kurt’s toes, the voice he uses just for him.

"I think we might actually have something here—we might really have a band," he says, quiet, like he’s giving Blaine a secret, a little bit of his dreams and want, and he listens to Blaine breathe.

It’s like he’s holding Blaine’s hand across all the miles, sharing this with him.

There’s a loud crash from other side of the door and Kurt—remembers there is a loft full of people out there.  He curls his fingers around the cool edge of the tub.

"I’ll tell you everything on Skype tonight," he says. "And you can fill me in on how the lesson ended."

"Well, there might have been loincloths."

"Oh. Okay, I—" he manages to get out, fumbling.

Blaine makes a humming noise into the phone, drawing it out. “I’ll tell you later.”

Kurt groans.

He leaves the bathroom a minute later, clapping his hands once to get the band 's attention. “Everyone ready for this? Let’s try another one.” There is a cheer and Dani twirls on the rope, a cracking sound coming from the ceiling and a sprinkle of white plaster dust falling down into their hair.

They all look up.

"And we are—cutting that down," he says.

"But I was thinking—" Santana starts.

“ _No_.”

 

**[river]**

As foreign as it first felt to him, there is a rhythm to Kurt’s neighborhood that he has learned. He knows the hour the owner of the cafe on the corner unlocks the door every morning, lights coming on, and the sound of the bus stopping on the street. It’s in the faces he recognizes—the people that live all around him, that he lives among. He has slipped into it now, become a part of it.

He can’t say for sure when it happened, exactly, but it has become the cadence of his life.

But some days, it feels like he hasn’t ever stepped in the same place twice—the city rushes on all sides of him, constantly changing, in flux. He rides the subway and walks the sidewalks, doing what he has to do to swim with it.

At night, the block gets quieter and he curls into bed, looking at the face of his fiancé through a computer screen. They aren’t the same boys they were before—time also, never stops, and he can feel that too. But there, in the dark, they smile at each other—they breathe and murmur their secrets together, the parts of them that are only at home once they are given to the other—and the flow of the world outside his window becomes distant, bifurcating around them.

Right now, Kurt rests.

 

**[pulse]**

The slide of the loft door sounds so loud to Kurt right now, scraping along the track and shaking the wood. He covers his mouth, trying not to giggle, but it slips out and he’s gasping with it, breath coming out unevenly when Rachel tugs on his arm where it is looped through hers. He squints his eyes against the light she turns on. And okay, he might be a little—tipsy.

His body feels like it’s rushing right now—a rush and throb he can feel everywhere; the blood moving in time with the beat of his heart, his back is hot and itchy under the white gauze bandage and he thinks it might hurt. It’s supposed to hurt, right? It hurt when the needle was hitting his skin. Right now though, he can’t seem to focus on it that much.

“Rachel, I can’t believe—” he says, and oh, he’s supposed to have water or something. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you drink. Or maybe when you get a tattoo. One of those. He wanders toward the kitchen, but doesn’t get there.

Rachel wraps her arms around him, and kisses his cheek, her breath warm lemon and alcohol. “I need to go to bed.”

He nods—yeah, that sounds good. He probably should, too.

He makes it into his bedroom, curtain closed, and grabs his computer. He wants to talk to _Blaine_. He fishes his phone out his pocket and sends him a text, _hi pls skype?_

It takes a minute for him to place the call, Kurt trying to arrange himself on the bed—he first lies back on his pillows and no, not the best idea right now. He ends up sprawled on his stomach, laptop right in front of face. He puts his palms to his cheeks, feeling the heat there.

It just gets worse once he sees Blaine’s face. He’s in his pajamas, eyes a little sleepy, smile full of affection, and looks— _oh_. Kurt is pretty sure he could look at him forever.

"Blaine," Kurt says on a sigh, voice high.

"Hey! I was just about to text you because I was going to crash early tonight," Blaine says.

Kurt pouts his bottom lip out a little at Blaine, before breaking into a grin. “Got home right on time, then.”

Blaine’s eyebrows go up and he cocks his head, his lips pressing together like he’s trying to be serious, “Kurt, have you been drinking?”

"I had—um, two shots. Rachel and I—" He hiccups. And pauses. He wants to tell Blaine about his tattoo but really—he wants to _show_ Blaine, wants to see Blaine’s face when he does, but it had been all red at the shop and he’s supposed to leave the bandage on for like, two more hours. He drops his voice. “We were...rebelling.”

Blaine is laughing now, looking delighted. “Oh, really?”

"Really. We are becoming artists," Kurt says, throwing his arm out in a dramatic gesture. "Artists."

"Kurt." Blaine leans forward, smirking. "Did you know you’re slurring your words a little?"

Kurt makes a face. “I am not—”

"You kinda are."

"Well, I bet you like it."

He tries to give Blaine his sexiest eyes, running his thumb along his lips, but he—he cracks up, covering his face. When he looks back to Blaine, the tables have been turned on him—Blaine giving him _those eyes_ —the look that drives Kurt crazy. And he knows it.

"I really think I do—it’s pretty adorable," Blaine says, and Kurt pouts again.

"Not playing fair." Kurt rubs his hand at the base of his neck. "You’re too far away for that."

Blaine laughs again, holding his hands up. “Okay, okay—”

Kurt thinks he might be sobering up; everything is starting to slow, the pulse of it not so intense. His bed feels so pleasant, and he’s with the man he loves—it flows through him slowly, the contentment of it. His eyelids start to feel heavy.

"What about your day?" Kurt asks, just wanting to listen to Blaine talk, to hear his dear voice. So Blaine tells him about twerking in the school hallways and the presentation they are planning to do at Mr. Schue’s school board hearing—and the connection feels so good to Kurt.

He’s yawning by the time they are saying good-night.

"Oh, I almost—I have something to show you tomorrow," Kurt says, rolling his shoulder a bit, feeling the pull of his shirt over his back. Blaine looks intrigued.

"Well, looking forward to it," Blaine says. "Love you."

"Love you too," Kurt says, and they disconnect. He gets out of bed and pulls off his clothes, slipping into a pair of pajama pants. All the excitement of the past few hours, the alcohol and the endorphins, has drained out of his body—leaving him exhausted. He tumbles into the bed, thinking about his fiancé’s face and his own skin as he falls asleep.

 

**[dirt]**

Summer is creeping into the city, gray pavement holding heat and warm air on the subway platforms. It’s more than Kurt expected, fundamentally different from its approach in Lima, different in the press of the air and so many people so close.

Today he feels like he spent half the day commuting between Bushwick and NYADA and the diner, and when he wipes the side of his hand along his neck, it comes back with the slick of his sweat and the faintest trace of dirt from his day. He really should find that grosser, and it is if he thinks about it too much, but right now it’s also satisfying. Proof of his life on his skin.

Of course, he also really, really wants a long shower.

And to talk to his fiancé.

He slides the door open to the empty loft and presses his tongue stud to the roof of his mouth, a precise increase of the pressure until he feels soreness. He’s alone tonight, both Rachel and Santana have evening shifts, and he’s glad for it. Two nights ago, showing off his tattoo and new piercing to Blaine had resulted in frantic, giggly skype sex, his music turned up loud to hide the sound of their gasps and the night before was his evening shift, so they didn’t have time for more than a sleepy good night because they both had to get up so early.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt before he even gets to his bedroom and by the time he’s to the bed, he’s down to his undershirt and boxer briefs, the air of the loft cooling his skin. He falls onto the bed and grabs his computer, seeing Blaine online.

The whole place is quiet.

Okay, fiancé first. Then shower.

Blaine’s face fills the screen with a smile when they connect, so sweet that Kurt can hardly breathe through it, so sweet that all he wants is to taste Blaine’s breath and teeth and lips.

"Hey you," Blaine says, soft, quirking an eyebrow at Kurt. "Well, look at you. Did you start without me?"

Kurt laughs, glancing down. “No, it’s just—so hot today. I’m pretty sure my shirt should be burned. I was sweating through it.”

Blaine grins. “You sound better. Your piercing still bothering you?”

Kurt sticks his tongue out at the camera, Blaine making a low noise at that, and shakes his head.

"No, well, a little but the swelling is much better."

Kurt touches the stud to his teeth and they just look at each other for moment, still memorizing features they know so well.

"And everything else?" Blaine asks quietly.

Kurt wishes desperately, suddenly, that Blaine was there with him. He sighs, and rubs his hand on his duvet. “I don’t know. It’s like, the present is right here again. Not that it wasn’t before, and I wasn’t unhappy really, but—”

"You don’t have to," Blaine starts.

"No, I mean, it’s okay. Some days it’s hard; I know some days will always be hard."

Kurt knows that well.

"Of course." Blaine looks at him so tenderly.

"But it feels different. I can worry about Rachel and my career and our future and miss Finn and go work and school and be _here_ all at the same time. And that’s—good.”

Kurt watches Blaine nod thoughtfully and wants to touch him. They haven’t talked a lot about their grief directly, just in those first few days when Kurt came home for the funeral and they cried together and remembered, and then again during the glee club memorial week. They saw it in the other though, somehow learned to hold each other through it even with hundreds of miles between them, whispering about their days at night and listening to each other’s breathing to fall asleep.

Alive. In and out. _Alive._

How did that happen?

"God, I miss you." Kurt marvels at what he has.

"I miss you so much, Kurt." Blaine doesn’t sound sad, not at all.

Kurt feels alive. He is sitting in his underwear, dried sweat and city dirt on his skin, still-sore tongue, tattoo on his back, looking at the love of his life and the man he’s going to marry. The sadness is another part of him, always will be, but this, too, is his.

Blaine is smiling at him and he looks so gorgeous. He has his chin propped up on his hand, just like he did the first time he told Kurt he loved him. Kurt’s heart starts pounding hard.

Just like it did then.

"Kurt, after everything, every day—I am so glad for the choice we made. I’m so glad I’m going to marry you."

"I feel the same way." Kurt says and god, he so does.

"I know that’s not what most people would do, or even think was smart—"

"Oh no, mister, I know you don’t give a crap about that." Kurt teases, smirking at him.

Blaine laughs, loudly. “No, I really don’t.”

He pauses. Kurt waits. “I just mean, I think it made me realize the choice more than ever, what it means.”

"What it means to make it?"

Blaine shakes his head a bit. “To make the choice together.”

It isn’t too different from what Blaine has said to him before, said something similar when he proposed even, but his face, soft lips turned up, cheeks a little flushed but so quietly serious—says _right now_. We choose this together _right now_. It’s the future but it’s also the present.

This moment. They are here together.

Kurt feels electricity under his skin, sparking white bright and he wants. He wants his fiancé.

"I love you," he says, helpless to it.

Blaine smiles widely, “and I love you.”

Kurt arches his back and Blaine clearly can see the change in him right away. He licks his lips and looks at Kurt through his lashes, his gaze going wanting. Kurt groans once and then the silence stretches a bit; Kurt just breathes into it.

"Honey?" Kurt asks, running his hand down his chest. He watches Blaine watch.

"Yeah?"

"I’m going to take off the rest of my clothes now. Do you want to join me? We have time—lots of time."

Blaine is all ready pulling off his shirt.

 

**[message]**

The night Blaine gets to New York, Kurt takes him out to dinner.

He has been compiling a list for this on his phone, mostly places he wants to take Blaine that he loves, like the Spanish cafe on Flushing and the deli near NYADA where he gets coffee and a bagel when he can spare the cash, and places that he thinks Blaine will love—a Thai bistro with communal tables and live music—but he also has another shorter list: one made of just places that he has never been, that he and Blaine can experience for the first time, together. The restaurant he picks for tonight is from that list.

The evening is warm on the walk to the subway station and they let their hands and hips brush, the light fading behind the buildings, the sky going blue-purple.

They get off after two stops and when they get there, it's only a ten minute wait, which they spend tucked up against each other by the front window, Blaine’s hand resting on Kurt’s lower back. It thrums through Kurt’s chest and limbs and head—here here here—Blaine is _here_. He feels Blaine’s touch through all of his clothes.

It’s packed with people and they get seated at tiny wooden table against the wall, a single short candle in a little glass holder in the center. It throws flickering light onto Blaine’s face and onto his teeth when he smiles, eyes crinkling, at Kurt.

They press their legs together under the table as they order, not willing to give up the contact, the touch they have both been missing. Blaine orders the duck with salad and Kurt, the sirloin, but it almost doesn’t matter—Kurt could have been eating anything for all the attention the food gets, he cuts and chews, but it is curve of Blaine’s jaw, the movement of his hands as he speaks, the way his lips form words and everything he says, about his trip, about glee club, about his audition—it narrows everything else out.

At one point Blaine grabs Kurt’s left hand where it rests on the table, stroking his thumb over the silver of the engagement ring before letting go.

By the time their plates are almost done, they start to lapse into longer and longer silences, Blaine lowering his eyes occasionally, his long eyelashes on his cheeks. They just look, without the miles and computer screens and anything else in the way, just the two of them in a noisy little Brooklyn restaurant, alone in the world. Kurt didn’t know it would feel like this.

They linger—ordering coffee and a pretty fruit tart for dessert. When the check comes, Blaine is running his ankle along Kurt’s, back and forth, back and forth and tracing his finger along the grain of the tabletop, making little paths and patterns that Kurt can’t read.

"Are you ready to go back to the loft?" Kurt asks him softly.

"Yes, I am," Blaine says, and his eyes are hot. Kurt swallows.

It is dark by the time when they leave, the hour getting late, and the loft is mostly quiet when they get home, Rachel’s curtain closed, Santana out for the night, and Sam on the couch, watching what looks like an action movie. He sits up as they slide the door closed behind them.

"Oh, you guys are back," he says and out the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Blaine widen his eyes at Sam. He replies by making some sort of complicated gesturing-maneuver and Kurt drops his chin to hide his grin. The two of them communicate in a silent exchange before Sam shrugs and relaxes back down.

"So, we’re going to bed," Blaine says.

Kurt takes Blaine’s hand. “Good night, Sam. We’ll—see you in the morning.”

"Um, sure. I’ll just be out here listening to music. With my headphones," Sam says.

And they close themselves in Kurt’s bedroom.

They sit on the edge of the bed at first, hands linked, as they lean towards each other, bending towards each other—noses brushing, and Kurt kisses Blaine right by his mouth, just a slide of breath and heat, feeling his skin and stubble, before their lips meet.

It is the first time he’s ever kissed Blaine on this bed, and it shakes him, makes him push into the kiss, letting his tongue brush Blaine’s full bottom lip, tasting him. Blaine sighs, and then it’s wet, and soft, tongues touching and retreating.

They break, and their smiles press together.

"Hey," Kurt whispers.

"Hey," Blaine whispers back. "I like this."

"Oh god, me too." Kurt says. He runs his hands down the lapels of Blaine’s jacket. "This is nice. It looks good on you."

Blaine nuzzles his face into Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt has trouble catching his breath. “But. I’m going to take it off now.”

The night Blaine gets to New York, Kurt undresses him slowly.

Jacket first, then bowtie, shirt. He pulls Blaine to him, letting his hands slip down his bare back, feeling the run of his spine and the heat of him, his mouth falling onto Blaine’s shoulder, sucking a kiss there.

"Kurt," Blaine breathes.

Kurt tilts his head back and licks his lips, grinning at him. Belt buckle, button, zipper.

Blaine lifts his ass a little so Kurt can slip them down, bending to pull off his shoes and socks as he removes them, leaving Blaine in his small green briefs, his mostly hard cock all ready filling the fabric. Kurt tugs at the waistband of them, tucking his fingers there right at Blaine’s hips, trapped between the fabric and Blaine’s skin. Kurt never wants to pull his hands away.

He had been thinking of this ever since Blaine slipped the ring on his finger, ever since they got back together, Blaine here with him—not like before, not ever like before—but it almost felt like an abstract, the possibility of it sparking every time they talked, but now it’s Blaine’s face and body and smell, his smile and sweat, and it is more real than—anything. He doesn’t know how to say all the things he’s feeling, how to express the parts of him that are vibrating and breaking apart.

Blaine kisses his cheek and neck and says, eyes blinking slowly, “This usually works better if we take off your clothes too.”

Kurt expels a rush of a laugh, “That’s not always true.”

Blaine smirks at him. “Tonight it’s true.”

Blaine gently pushes him down on the bed, unbuttoning his vest and shirt, removing his layers, taking his time with Kurt’s pants, his fingers down the insides of Kurt’s thighs, on his calves, along his ankles. When they are both down to their briefs, Blaine covers Kurt’s body half with his own, kissing up his chest, then right behind Kurt’s ear. Kurt turns his head to get his mouth, lush and long.

Kurt grabs at Blaine’s shoulder, up into his hair, and the faint crunch of the gel breaking makes Kurt jerk. That sound, oh that little sound, is the most erotic thing to him, that sound that means just the two of them, that means Blaine and sex—he hears it and his body reacts, cock painfully hard now.

"Blaine," he gasps, and his words are right there but his blood is filling every part of him, making him sensitive and flushed with it, and they are scattered away. "Blaine.”

He rolls them then, pinning Blaine underneath him and just kissing him, uses one hand to try and get that last little bit between them gone. He breathes out, in a harsh exhale, and Blaine helps, pulling his own briefs down and then attempting Kurt’s, with both of them getting stuck around mid-thigh, and they twist and gasp when their cocks brush together.

They giggle into their kisses, and break apart to finally, finally get naked.

"Kurt," Blaine says quietly to him. "Let me see your tattoo."

Oh, he hasn’t, not really—Kurt goes onto his stomach and feels Blaine run one finger over it, before letting that finger follow down the rest of his back, over the curve of his ass. He feels Blaine’s tongue, wet and hot, run over the inked skin. Kurt thrusts down into the mattress.

"I love it," Blaine says, close to his ear, and Kurt smiles. Blaine’s voice sounds wicked and intensely tender at the same time.

"Me too," he says.

Blaine lies along Kurt’s side and Kurt turns to him, instinctually, his body finding Blaine’s and he—he has to kiss Blaine right now, Blaine’s body reaching for his in some way Kurt barely understands.

He kisses Blaine’s lips and chest, salt-slick skin, and yes, he thinks, this is real, the way he feels is real—this is where he belongs, this is what calls to him. He kisses Blaine’s hands and neck— _oh you’re here_. He kisses Blaine’s shoulders and hips— _oh please_.

"Oh god, Kurt," Blaine says and Kurt kisses his cock, runs his tongue along the shaft.

Blaine touches his shoulder, and Kurt raises his head. Blaine is flushed and his lips bitten red.

"Come here," he whispers. "I want you."

And Kurt goes, sliding up Blaine’s body.

"Do you have lube?" Blaine asks and Kurt trembles, all over.

"Yes," he says, and reaches over to his night stand, finding it, Blaine watching him.

Blaine takes it from Kurt’s hand and grabs Kurt’s thigh, pulling it over his hip, so they are facing each other, chests touching, pelvises touching, cocks slotted next to each other. Blaine coats his fingers in lube, wiping the excess off on his own stomach, and—and wraps his hand around both their cocks, and strokes down, spreading it.

Kurt cries out.

Blaine’s other arm is hooked under and around Kurt’s neck and he uses it bring Kurt even closer, breathing into each other’s mouths and trading hot kisses when they can, Blaine’s hand moving up and down, so slowly.

Kurt tries—but, “oh fuck,” and his hips start thrusting, his cock rubbing against Blaine’s, the heads catching together, tight in the space between their bodies and in Blaine’s grip, lube getting everywhere. They can’t look away from each other and it’s so close and Kurt whines, pressing even closer, and without saying a word, every kiss— _oh I need you_ and every thrust— _I love you_ and every gasp—

_You’re the love of my life. I’m going to marry you._

"God, Kurt, you feel—" Blaine moans and his hips start moving erratically, and Kurt chases him, dragging him in by his round ass, fingers in the cleft and spreading, grasping. Kurt’s skin feels so hot and he’s sweating and their spit is smeared where they keep trying to kiss—over and over again.

Blaine comes first, pushing hard against him, and groaning into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt holds him through it and moans too, pleasure sharp, without even realizing it, thrusting against Blaine’s come-wet stomach until he follows.

They lay there panting, Blaine dropping little kisses on Kurt’s face. His eyes flutter slowly and they both smile.

"Well, that was—" Blaine says.

"Yeah," Kurt says, and kisses Blaine’s nose. Blaine’s eyes are so sweet in this moment.

They clean up and cuddle together for awhile, until their eyelids are heavy. Kurt has to practically shake Blaine awake to get him into his pajamas—they can’t take any chances here—but they put on some clothes and then turn out the light, Kurt spooning Blaine and pressing his face into the back of his neck. Blaine is here, and they sleep.

 

**[human]**

On the bed after his shift at the diner, Kurt sits against the wall with Blaine between his legs, leaning back onto Kurt’s chest. They have Blaine’s laptop playing music, Blaine humming along softly and stroking just above Kurt’s knees through his pajama pants, and Kurt is running his hands up and down Blaine’s bare arms, slow, just feeling the texture and pull of Blaine’s skin under his fingers. It’s comforting and sexy and fascinating—that he can touch Blaine like this again.

Kurt presses his face to Blaine’s shoulder and he can sense it there, the tightness of his muscles, almost imperceptible but right under Kurt’s lips, evidence of whatever Blaine is quiet about. Kurt can’t help the tiny twisting in his stomach, he doesn’t want to feel it—it feels almost like an intruder to this moment.

He breathes in right behind Blaine’s ear, smelling his hair gel. Blaine shifts and Kurt sticks his tongue out and just _licks_ along the back of his neck, wet and sudden.

Blaine laughs, breathless, and shakes and squirms away from him a little.

“Kurt—”

"What?" he teases, playful, and Blaine turns around and straddles him, grabbing his hands and holding them up and away from his body.

Blaine gives him a challenging look and Kurt presses his lips together. And okay, it was a little unfair—he knows very well how sensitive the back of Blaine’s neck can be, can really only take kisses and licks there when he is really worked up, when he gets to that point where ticklish is a non-issue because every touch is just more more _more_.

But Blaine is grinning at him and shaking his head, relaxed and flushed, and Kurt feels so gone for this boy in this moment, seeing him smile like that.

He pulls at Blaine’s grip, and Blaine relents, letting Kurt free. He puts his hands on Blaine’s hips and tugs him in, bringing their pelvises close and chests almost touching. Blaine smirks down at him.

"I’m glad you had a good day," Kurt says softly, and he is—glad Blaine could see the city with Sam, glad that Blaine is here in the city with him again, in their bed.

Blaine touches his forehead to Kurt’s and exhales. “I did,” he says.

Kurt kisses him then, lets his lips linger a few seconds around Blaine’s bottom one—Blaine wrapping his arms around Kurt shoulders and making a little noise when Kurt breaks this kiss.

Kurt spent so many days in this city, just—going, when he didn’t know how, when he came home every night to an empty bed and a sleeping pill, and no one to even call to say good night. He felt barely alive some days and others, too alive—too tender and angry about it, trying to not feel that way, days when he thought about Blaine more than he could admit and cried hot tears in the shower so not even Rachel saw them, days when he worried and just wanted to hear his dad’s voice.

And now Blaine’s here and soon, he’ll be here all the time and Kurt feels the pull of the life they are going to build, are building—more than just the whispered dreams of two boys in Lima.

He feels Blaine’s fingers curl into his skin. “You know, the city feels different from the other times I’ve been here,” Blaine says.

Kurt squeezes his hips in encouragement, but doesn’t say anything.

"I don’t know. New York was always our dream, I know, but it was also—where you lived." Blaine pauses and Kurt knows they both hear the echo of the past in that, of the miles and distance and fear and hard visits. "Today it felt like it was mine too, or at least will be, will be my home too."

Kurt smiles at him. “It is your home.”

"With you," Blaine says, and it feels like a correction.

Blaine feels real in his lap, the weight of his body and presence and eyes, and Kurt can’t even look away from him. He can’t even question it, how two humans can do this, share this—he just lets himself be pulled.

No, not correction—connection.

And then they are kissing, Blaine’s tongue in his mouth and Kurt gets hard so fast, before he even realizes it’s happening. He slips his hands into Blaine’s pants, spreads his fingers over Blaine’s ass and Blaine moves, grinding down.

When he licks the back of Blaine’s neck again that night, Blaine moans low and long.

 

**[Us]**

Blaine buzzes for a solid two hours after his audition—quick to smile and radiating excitement. He hadn’t been able to eat much that morning so they go get Mexican food afterwards at this tiny little taqueria near the loft with chipped green tabletops and black-and-white tiled floors.

Kurt orders at the counter for them while Blaine claims a table, and they gorge themselves on tacos and tostadas, talking and laughing at each other as they try every single variety from the salsa bar, leaving their plates with smears of red and green, like little Christmas paintings. Blaine tries to write their initials and a heart in the salsa with a piece of a chip, making Kurt giggle and flirt shamelessly with him.

By the time they get home, they are both fat and happy, the air between them mellowing into something quieter and more sweet. Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt from behind when they get into the bedroom, melting into his back.

“I feel like I need a nap,” Blaine moans.

"Come on then," Kurt says, tugging him down on the bed. "We can rest until everyone gets back."

They get out of their shoes and lie down fully clothed, but under the covers. Kurt smiles as Blaine yawns, holding a hand over his mouth.

Blaine reaches out to take Kurt’s hand, bringing it up to place a kiss over his engagement ring. Kurt pulls the covers up close, and then over their heads, blocking out the afternoon sun, making a little dim cave for just them.

"I’m so happy for you," he whispers. "And proud."

Blaine smiles. “Thank you—for everything. I’m glad that I did it.”

Kurt shakes his head. “There’s really no need. I want—”

He pauses and Blaine strokes his hand. Kurt was nervous this morning, strung tight and vibrating nearly as much as Blaine was and it has all drained from his body now, like a giant exhale that he and Blaine figured out how to take together. It loosens his tongue and his brain.

"I have spent so much time thinking about us here, about our futures—but really I just want us to live. I think especially since we lost Finn—"

Kurt swallows. Blaine brushes a thumb over Kurt’s cheek.

"I want it for both of us. I want us happy—I want you happy and doing what you love, that’s all. I get scared, too. And that means sometimes I might not understand everything, but I want us to believe in that. In each other.”

Blaine kisses him then, little kisses over and over again on his mouth that make Kurt’s eyes water.

"I meant it when I said I wanted to make it safe for you. You make it safe for me—I don’t think you even know how much. Every day."

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes. And he can see it in Blaine’s face the gravity of those words, what they mean to him.

They touch their noses together and Kurt lets some air in, tucking the covers down below their chins and he pulls Blaine to him, and just watches as Blaine closes his eyes and dozes off, their hands and legs tangles together—watching him sink into sleep, features going loose and mouth falling open a little, before Kurt follows him.

 

**[consume]**

Kurt had been saving the champagne in his bottom drawer next to the now one-third empty bottle of limoncello. He bought it on a whim months ago and kept it there unopened, before he even knew what he was saving it for.

But it was for tonight—of course. It always was.

The lights in his room are turned down low and Blaine grins as Kurt fills his glass, bubbles coming close to spilling over the edge. He’s kneeling on the bed in his red briefs, sleek and glowing, more relaxed and happy than he’s been all trip. The success of his audition, the beat of the future, changing every line of his body.

There’s a plate of cheesecake between them with two forks.

Kurt pours for himself and leans towards Blaine, leans into this moment, into their bed, Blaine’s beautiful smiling mouth, the light reflected in the glass and his eyes and god, it pulls at Kurt, pulls something fierce in the center of his chest.

He can’t stop it—of course. He never could.

"You know, nothing says celebration like champagne and cake," he whispers.

"Especially in our underwear," Blaine laughs and runs his free hand along Kurt’s thigh, right to the edge of his boxer briefs. Kurt presses his lips to Blaine’s jaw. They are doing their best to pretend they are alone in the loft, noise machine on and curtains closed and for now, it’s enough. Blaine leaves in the morning but right now—

They clink their glasses together and Kurt downs his with a slight shudder, the recent hangover making his body hesitant.

Blaine takes his own sip slow as can be, not looking away from Kurt’s face, smile becoming a smirk. Kurt feels it again, lower this time, and he wants to just lick the champagne off Blaine’s lips.

They feed each other bites and sips and talk in low voices. Blaine gestures wildly as he recounts the day again and then spills everywhere, liquid going on Kurt’s legs and the blanket and his own chest. Blaine’s mouth drops open in frozen surprise and Kurt makes a noise at the cool shock of it, high and louder than he intends.

"Shhhh," Blaine says, his eyes wide and he brings his fingers to Kurt’s mouth. "Kurt, everyone will wake up." His face stays serious for maybe half a second but it’s like he can’t—and Kurt can’t—and then they are both giggling, trying to stay quiet but they can’t stop, can hardly look at each other—it’s slipping from their throats and shaking their bodies.

Kurt reaches out blindly, grasping at Blaine shoulders and the plate gets pushed between their knees as they press their foreheads together, one of Blaine’s hands in Kurt’s hair and the other on the back of his neck.

Kurt puts both his hands on Blaine’s cheeks and can feel the laughter there, in the shape of them and in Blaine’s breath on his face, and it’s everything.

Kurt leans into it.

 

**[quick]**

When Kurt opens his eyes the morning Blaine leaves New York, there’s rain coming down—pattering against the window pane, a soft, swift percussion in the still-dark early hour. He doesn’t know if it was the sound or the weight of the morning that woke him before his alarm, but he gets out of bed, slipping from Blaine’s arms as gently as he can, and goes to the kitchen to start their coffee. Sam is still asleep on the couch, covered in one of Rachel’s pink blankets.

He scoops the coffee and fills the machine with water, looking at the little clock on the display—they don’t have much time. Blaine and Sam need to get back to Lima.

Blaine is sitting up when he returns to the bedroom, staring at the window. When Kurt gets close to the bed, he holds out an arm and Kurt falls there, curling into his side as Blaine brushes a kiss to Kurt’s temple.

“Feels appropriate,” Blaine murmurs into his hair and Kurt smiles despite himself.

Kurt reaches for hand. “Let’s go take a shower—we’re the only ones awake yet.”

In the bathroom, Kurt turns on the water and it runs over his hand as he checks the temperature. Behind him, he hears Blaine getting out of his pajamas and robe—shedding pieces into a puddle on the floor. When he turns around, Blaine is naked and Kurt’s heart is in his throat— _god,_ every time. It’s Blaine’s skin and his narrow waist and his shape of his hips and soft cock.

Kurt leaves his own tank top and sweatpants and boxer briefs next to Blaine’s clothes and follows him under the spray of the water. It comes down over them, wetting their hair and sliding down their bodies, hitting the porcelain of the tub bottom and sides. Kurt puts his arms around Blaine’s shoulders; Blaine’s hands find his waist, stroking the wet skin there.

"You’re gorgeous. I wish I didn’t have to—" Blaine starts to say, his voice hushed.

Kurt nods his head. He knows—he feels it too, in the warm humid air all around them, in the space between their bodies, the creeping feeling of what the missing is going to feel like again, not quite here yet—but everywhere. Blaine presses his lips to Kurt’s cheek and smiles there.

"Kurt. I’ve loved being here," he says. "I know we can’t make the distance go away right now—or the time go faster."

"No," Kurt whispers. "It’s okay."

Blaine’s palms slip down to Kurt’s hips, his touch there delicate and warm, just a light pressure.

"Do you remember when you asked what my parents thought after I asked you to marry me, and I said they were generally okay with it?" Blaine asks.

"I remember. _Generally._ ” Kurt teases his word choice—more careful than it appears, Kurt knows.

Blaine grins, tender, and his eyes soft. “Well, I don’t think I told you exactly what I said to them.”

Kurt rubs Blaine’s shoulder, an unconscious stroke of comfort. “What did you say?”

"I said I was happy—and that I knew this was right for me, and that," Blaine says, kissing Kurt’s cheek again. "I know that whatever we don’t know, I want to learn _with you_ , like we always have and that I will even in ten years or fifty years or more.”

Kurt feels the tears in his eyes, so close to falling.

Blaine’s face is serious. “And that I am so in love with you.”

Kurt clears his throat. “I want you to know that I haven’t—worried at all since we’ve gotten engaged, not for one minute, not about us. I am in love with you too—and I am so happy I said yes.”

He had spent so much time, so many months, trying to pin down his emotions and cut the ropes in his mind, trying to understand what happened, trying to get over Blaine, trying trying trying. He didn’t know that he only thing he had to try was to take Blaine’s hand—until he did. It clutches in Kurt’s chest—the desire in him for this boy, the love he feels, the ground they mark together, the call of it, in his blood and breath—this is their life.

He kisses Blaine then, slow and deep, tongue in his mouth, hands in his hair. Blaine is smiling when he pulls back. “I know, and that makes me happy—and I’m glad we got to spend this time here together.”

Kurt sighs. “And so now you’ll go back to Lima, and be amazing and lead the glee club to Nationals and graduate and then—”

"I will and then—I’ll come back," Blaine finishes. Kurt pulls him close and they stand there in the water, just holding each other, naked skin together, vulnerable and alive.

He knows they are both trying not to cry.

Kurt washes Blaine’s hair and they clean their bodies. They are both half-hard by the time they are done but they don’t do anything about it, content to just touch each other and take care. They wrap towels around their waists and Kurt brushes his teeth while Blaine shaves, then moisturizes as Blaine does his hair, sharing the little sink. Before they leave the bathroom, Kurt smoothes the hair right by the shell of Blaine’s ear.

They cross the loft back to Kurt’s bedroom, Kurt checking the time again on his phone. Too fast. _Too fast._ The minutes have flown away.

They get dressed in silence, drinking in the sight of each other’s bodies a little more, brushing skin and adjusting each other’s clothes, hands on shoulders and straightening collars, trading kisses. Blaine looks to be sure he has all of his things packed—Kurt goes and pours coffee into travel mugs, makes a few pieces of toast for Blaine and Sam.

Blaine comes out into the living room with his bag. Sam is folding up the blanket, his bag all ready by the door.

"Time to get going," Blaine says and Sam nods, collecting the food and coffee from Kurt. He goes and stands by the door, looking at the wall to give them a few more seconds. Kurt is so grateful to him right now, for his kindness.

Blaine grabs Kurt and kisses him hard, letting their foreheads touch when he breaks it. “I’ll text when we get there.”

"Please do."

They both nod, and grasp hands for a moment before Blaine walks over to Sam, taking his mug from him. Blaine looks back one more time at Kurt, smiles, and then is gone.

 

**[jigsaw]**

It is all soft gold light, the early evening sun coming through Kurt’s window, warming each surface and trying to creep into the corners. He can hear Rachel singing softly in her room and he pulls his curtain closed—a little rustle to build a barrier.

It traps the light and the quiet he has.

He kicks off his shoes and strips off his socks, climbing onto the bed and rolling onto his back. He turns his head into his pillow—and he hopes it isn’t his imagination—but he thinks he can still detect Blaine there, just a little bit of hair product and sweat that he wants to catch. He runs his hand there, over the fabric where Blaine slept not that long ago.

For a bed that he slept in for so long by himself, it feels like it’s missing something now—the dip of pressure that should be there, an absent imprint of a curve in the shape of the pillow. He catches himself looking for it.

He reached out in his sleep late last night and when his hand hit the cool sheet, it startled him almost awake.

He bends his knees up and digs his heels into the bedding, letting the soles of his feet touch along the fabric. He glances at his watch and reaches over the side of the bed to his satchel, pulling out his computer.

He hears Rachel’s heels clicking across the floor of the loft, her called-out goodbye.

Blaine answers his Skype call almost right away. He is on his bed, still in his school clothes—bowtie at his throat and dark hair shining.

"Hey, how was your day?" Kurt asks, getting comfortable against the pillows.

"It was fine, I guess," Blaine shrugs. "We aren’t even really learning anything in class anymore. I think most of my teachers are pretty checked out now—just counting down till finals."

Kurt remembers those weeks too well. He had been coming out of his skin, waiting for his letter from NYADA and dreaming of New York. He barely remembers even sitting in class during that time.

"And glee club?"

Blaine shakes his head minutely and his brow furrows before smoothing again, “Nationals prep. Or well, that’s what we are supposed to be doing but we don’t actually have a set list yet.”

Kurt sees Blaine adjust the cuff of his cardigan. It takes a second and Blaine is careful with it. Kurt raises his eyebrows.

"Typical New Directions," he says lightly and for a second, Kurt isn’t sure if Blaine heard him. But then he looks up and smiles.

"No, it’s okay. I think I have some ideas," Blaine says, looking pleased.

"Well, if you need me to listen to anything, let me know," he says and he’s flirting a little, he knows he is, bringing his left hand up and touching his ring to the sensitive skin of his neck. And it is partly over the expression on Blaine’s face, and partly because they both know he’s just looking for an excuse to have Blaine sing for him, but mostly—well, mostly because he doesn’t even know what else to do with the love pushing at his insides.

"I will," Blaine replies, smile pulling at his lips when Kurt makes sure the engagement ring is clearly visible to him. "What about you—good day?"

"Just busy."

Blaine makes a questioning noise and Kurt starts telling him about his nightmare voice class earlier. As he talks, Blaine tugs and loosens his bowtie, leaving the fabric hanging against his shirt.

Kurt stumbles over his words, mouth going a little dry.

"You were saying," Blaine prompts, his voice sounding innocent. He takes off his cardigan.

Kurt tries to remember where he was, ends up repeating part of the story he all ready told, but really, _really_ all he’s doing is watching Blaine flick his top button open.

Then the next. And the next.

"Blaine," he says, helpless with it now. Blaine just smirks with it, his cheeks pink and his lips wet from where he has licked them. He looks so good—shirt half off now, pulled down his shoulders and baring his chest.

"Are we—" Kurt starts to ask.

Blaine drops his shirt off the side of the bed. He laughs.

"I’m just—I’m really missing you, Kurt," he says and Kurt feels hot all over—his heart—it squeezes, breath leaving his lungs in a long exhale.

"Oh, I miss you too. So much." His voice is shaky and he’s taking off his own shirt and undershirt in one pull.

"God, Kurt," Blaine sighs. He sees Blaine angle his computer screen a bit as he unzips his pants, reaching into his briefs.

Kurt’s erection is tenting his pants now, pressing hard against his zipper and he wants Blaine so badly.

"No, I—Blaine, I feel like," he starts and he can’t go on—he has to relieve the pressure and he unbuttons his pants, sliding them down his hips. "My bed—I feel like it’s—missing now."

He isn’t sure he’s making sense. He watches as Blaine lays back a little, the angle of his body so beautiful, shoulders and smooth chest, his soft belly. It’s familiar, skin that Kurt can almost feel in his hands and parts of him that know Kurt’s body in every way—chest to chest, hips against ass, mouth pressed to mouth—and yet so far away it makes Kurt’s hips move restlessly, just looking at him, for him.

Kurt strokes over his cock, dry friction, and he shudders with it.

"Tell me?" Blaine says, and pulls his cock out of his underwear, hard and shining at the tip. Kurt can’t help groaning.

"I wake up alone and hard and you were _just here_ and I can still smell you in my bed, and I need you—”

"Oh," Blaine gasps, leaning over to his bedside table. When he puts his hand back on his cock, it smears wet with lube, sliding down the shaft and around the head, and Kurt thrusts into his hand at the sight.

"I try to jerk off but all I can think about is you here, and I want you on top of me, inside of me, and—" Kurt doesn’t know how to finish the thought, it is so overwhelming. Blaine is breathing hard, flushed down to his chest down, watching and rubbing his cock, and Kurt just wants to see him, see him come.

"And I...I fuck my hand and think of you fucking me—and god, I should have tied you to the bed." Blaine lets out a little noise, a breathless laugh, head falling back, eyes closing, as he gives in and Kurt tries to slow his hand, hold off his orgasm, but his precome has eased the glide a little now and it’s just—perfect. "I want to touch you everywhere and push you onto your back and just—ride you."

"Oh god, Kurt, oh god," Blaine moans, just a high whisper. "I want... _please_."

"I love you so much and you feel so good—"

"I want that too—" Blaine opens his eyes again. "Kurt, I’ve jerked off every night since I’ve been home. I even think about New York, about us there in your bed, and I get hard. I think about your dick and your skin and god, I had that hickey on my thigh for days and every time—"

Kurt swallows at that, the image nearly wrecking him—he had kissed and sucked all over Blaine his last night in the city, leaving an uneven-edged mark high on the inside of Blaine’s thigh, a secret there to take home with him.

Blaine had left his own on Kurt’s clavicle.

"I couldn’t stop touching it, while I got myself off," Blaine gasps out and he’s coming, Kurt sees his body tense and his hips come off the bed and he covers his hand and own stomach with it, whining low in his throat.

And Kurt can’t hold it back, seeing that, twisting his hand and moaning out his release. It rushes through him hard, making every part of him shake. He can’t even slow his breathing.

He hears Blaine laugh and when he opens his eyes, he sees him cleaning his hands and stomach with a hand towel.

"That was amazing," he says to Kurt, grinning and happy and Kurt gets his own tissues to clean up.

"I meant what I said, you know," Kurt says once he’s clean and covered.

Blaine blushes, “Which part?”

"About how much I miss you."

Blaine’s eyes go soft at that, and he smiles. “I know—I do. But not that much longer until graduation.”

He smooths his hand over his hair at that, smoothing down the back and sides where it is out of place and there’s something—something that doesn’t match his tone and demeanor—something that Kurt can’t quite figure out, can't put into place.

"You okay?"

Blaine looks surprised. “Of course. I’m going to need a shower before dinner I think, but other than that—yeah, I’m wonderful.”

Kurt pouts his lips a little, “well okay then, I guess that means you have to go?”

Blaine laughs. “I don’t really want to, but yeah—until after I eat.”

They end the call a few minutes later, after some teasing and I love you and it is quiet in the loft again. Kurt feels loose and his bed more comfortable right now, and he just wants to stay here just a little bit longer.

He turns his face back into the pillow.

 

**[neon]**

After getting home from Callbacks, Kurt goes out onto the fire escape. He doesn’t even bother getting changed, his gold pants pulling across his thighs uncomfortably when he crouches down and turns his phone over in his hand. The night is dark—but darkness in New York means something different than it did in Ohio—headlights and street lights, the neon tube sign of the bar across the street burning bright orange-red, white light from the front windows of the bodega next door spilling onto the sidewalk.

He has a text message from Blaine: _I’m sorry. Call me?_

Kurt moves his foot along the metal-grate floor. He is drained. He had really—hoped tonight wasn’t going to end like this. They had one audience member at their gig. He and Rachel had just barely convinced everyone to stick around and perform.

Blaine is still over five hundred miles away.

He sighs and hits call.

Blaine picks up on the second ring. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft in Kurt’s ear.

"Hey. I got your text."

"Yeah, I—I am sorry, Kurt. I know you needed me there."

Kurt closes his eyes. He isn’t even upset anymore—it was an initial rush, his frustration burned white hot for a few minutes and then fell away. But it doesn’t seem to stop the little aching place inside that wanted Blaine there, wants him here.

"It’s okay. But it wasn’t just that I needed you to come see the show, I also, just—wanted to see you," Kurt says, looking up at the starless sky.

"I know," Blaine says and he sounds strange, tired and somehow distracted.

"I’m not mad at you or anything," Kurt says and he’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say at all. This is the first time they’ve done this—had an issue like this, since getting back together and over long-distance. He doesn’t know if it counts as a fight really but it’s _something_ and he had been upset and he knows Blaine was too and he just—feels a little lost right now. “I mean, you got detention. I was just—I didn’t expect it. But you are okay, right?”

"Yeah, I think so," Blaine says, his voice still a little off, but Kurt thinks he maybe can hear the beginning of a smile. "So, did the show go well?"

"Um, it was, interesting. We didn’t have much of a turn out." He shrugs. "Basically just the evening bartender and cocktail waitresses and one old guy."

"Oh no—" Blaine starts but Kurt laughs.

"No, it’s fine. Really. We performed well, at least." And Kurt believes that. It wasn’t what he may have expected, at all, and he feels like he needs to collapse into bed but it wasn’t bad. He just has to make a plan for what’s next. "I can send you some pictures, if you want."

"I’d love that," Blaine says. "I really wish I had been there in person."

Kurt frowns. Below him, a group of girls in black dresses and bright lipstick come out of the bar and stand close to each other, talking loud enough for it to carry up to Kurt, red light of the sign shining down on them. He watches them give each other hugs and kisses on the cheek before they split apart.

"Blaine, I love you so much," Kurt whispers.

He can hear Blaine exhale before he responds. “I love you, too. I think I’m just—having a weird week.”

"Yeah, I can understand that. I just want you to call me if there’s a problem like tonight, if you have one.” Kurt says, and he hopes Blaine understands how serious he is about that. “I need to change clothes. Do you want to Skype later?”

"No, I think I should try to get some sleep," Blaine says.

"Me too, actually." Kurt doesn’t want to let him go, even for the night, but that’s what miles mean sometimes—that they have to figure it out on the phone and through computer screens and in little messages but it feels so hard to know for sure what he’s doing, no real experience to draw from for this. "We can talk some more tomorrow, okay? Have a good night."

"You too, Kurt."

After he ends the call, Kurt sits out there for a little while longer, sits in the lit-up dark of his neighborhood by himself.

 

**[stitch]**

It is getting late by the time Elliott leaves the loft. Kurt cleans the pastry box from the coffee table, wiping it with a rag to get the crumbs, and takes the other box, the empty cardboard that Blaine had shipped the puppets in, back into his bedroom. He knows he’s going to have to break it down soon and put it in the trash, but for whatever reason, he isn’t ready to get rid of it just yet. He puts it in the corner, tracing one finger along Blaine’s handwriting on the address label.

He sits on the bed and holds the Kurt puppet in his lap. It’s sorta—weird but he sees the care Blaine put into it, in the little outfit he picked, in the meticulous stitches he sewed to keep it together in a few places. It makes Kurt smile, his heart pounding with tenderness for Blaine.

Rachel and Santana are banging around in the kitchen—his curtain is mostly closed but he hears the refrigerator door open and close several times, plates being set down on the table.

He opens his laptop and pulls up Skype, waiting for Blaine’s call. When they connect, Kurt makes sure he’s still holding the puppet where it will be seen. Blaine laughs before he even says anything, eyes crinkling and cheeks curving.

"So I see you got them; I paid extra shipping to get it there on time," he says.

"We did. We were right in the middle of a band meeting, actually, so everyone was here, but Blaine—" Kurt starts. "You sent these to apologize for missing the show?"

"Well, sort of. I also sent it just so you could have it." Blaine looks incredibly pleased.

"Um. Thank you. But you know you didn’t have to do that," Kurt says. "You want to explain this to me? Because I’m not sure I totally—get it."

Kurt can see Blaine cross his legs on his bed, and nod, looking thoughtful for a minute. “I think I sort of started to—lose it a little this week? I mean, I know I’ve been stressed and then that fight with glee club and things just started just getting—out of control.”

Kurt stares at him. He knew that Blaine was stressed out when he was in New York for his audition—worried about his audition and failing. Kurt tries to pick his next question carefully.

"When you say out of control—"

"I don’t know, really. I had this weird waking dream or something about everyone being puppets, and then I made the you-puppet and I got a little attached to the whole thing. In the end, I think I kinda had to give the puppets away, you know?"

Kurt swallows. Blaine is blushing a little but there is a good measure of confusion at himself on his face. And okay—it sounds pretty strange to Kurt too. Kurt hugs the puppet a little closer to him—he’s not freaked out really but he doesn’t know what to think. Blaine is playing with seam on his pant leg, but his eyes are staying on Kurt, focused and intent. He doesn’t look away or down.

"And now, how are you doing?" Kurt asks. Blaine grins at him.

"Better. I made up with glee club; they’re going to give me a lead at Nationals—"

"Oh, that’s amazing. You totally deserve it," Kurt says.

"Thank you, Kurt. And I think just—realizing the pressure I’m under right now helped a little. But it was important to me to make sure things were okay with us."

Kurt sighs. “They are—they definitely are. But can I ask something?”

"Of course." Blaine says softly.

"Were you stressed about us?" Kurt asks, and it feels like such a strange question to ask, his mouth almost not wanting to form the words correctly. He knows there was some distance between them this week not related to the physical, an intangible space between what was happening and his understanding. He doesn’t know how to bridge it. Not sure if he’s supposed to know how.

Blaine shakes his head. “Not in that way. I mean, yeah but it wasn’t—it wasn’t about our relationship really. I was dealing with stuff and then the detention and not being able to come there--I did feel bad about that.”

"I—I’m sorry. I wish I could have helped."

Blaine shrugs and pauses. When he starts talking again, it’s hesitant, like his words are being each weighed before they come out of his mouth. “I know. Some of it I just had to figure out on my own.”

"No, I get that. But I—Blaine, we can be there for each other, talk to each other, as best we can right now. That’s what I want. I know that’s not always going to be easy but we’re engaged, and you—this is what I want.”

Blaine’s answering smile is bright, lovely. “I want that too.”

"I know, things are changing so fast, have changed so fast," Kurt says. "We’re getting married. And the distance—feels like a lot sometimes.”

Blaine makes a humming noise. “That’s true, but I know how much I love you. And I think, I know, that even when we have these—imperfect weeks, that we still choose this. We still choose each other, to love each other.”

Kurt—starts crying. He can’t help it. They are hot tears that well fat and then roll down his cheeks. He tries to wipe them away before he get away from him. Oh, _god_. He feels _fierce_ with it right now, with love—they have never been perfect, not really, no looking back now can ever convince him of that—but it feels so inconsequential to him. This beautiful boy that took his hand, that held his heart, seen his tears and weakness, and all those little pieces of their life together that they hold between them, sacred and away from the world. Kurt feels like he’s holding them up in his mind, every moment, a long string of them right there, almost overwhelming in way they fit together. And the lifetime-long span of the empty places where the future moments are going slot in. He doesn’t know how the shape of it is going to turn out, but it is theirs. He doesn’t feel particularly mature in this moment, desire for what’s important to him thrumming—but he feels the call of home in that life, he feels the structural support of it being made right now.

It’s doing the best they can, every day. Trying to be good to each other. Trying to be good to themselves.

"And I know you love me," Blaine says, tears in his eyes now. "I wake up every day not doubting that—looking forward to every minute we get together, to everything you bring into my life—and it’s so much. You really are my one true love.”

"I do, so much," Kurt whispers. "I really wish I could kiss you right now."

Blaine laughs, breathless and squeaky. “Oh god, me too. Kurt.”

One thread at a time. It’s an attempt—one conversation, one try at understanding even when you fuck up, one fit of laughter, one expression of love, one bad week, one good week—both of them, together.

Kurt smiles at Blaine. “You won’t believe the second gig I booked—”


End file.
